Ladies' Man
by Brenda Shaffer-Shiring
Summary: At the ship's Christmas party, Chakotay learns that a certain longstanding assumption he'd made about Tom may be mistaken. Nonexplicit slash, mild language.


TITLE: Ladies' Man  
AUTHOR: Brenda Shaffer-Shiring  
SERIES: Voy  
RATING: PG-13  
PART: 1/1  
CODES: C/P  
ARCHIVE: Just ask!  
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns these characters, but never lets them have any fun. I'm out to redress that. Or in this case, *un*dress that....  
SUMMARY: At a ship's Christmas party, Chakotay learns that a certain long-standing assumption he'd held about Tom may be mistaken. Response to a Christmas Challenge by Ellison Wonderland. (The challenge: Chakotay sees Tom doing something unexpected at Christmas, that makes Chakotay see Tom in a very different light. Tom doesn't know that Chakotay has seen him.) "The Wrong Person" (a J/7 story) is a companion piece to this, but either may be read separately.  
WARNING: This is an alternate-universe story which contains nonexplicit depiction of a male/male relationship. If you don't like AU's, and/or object to same-sex relationships, read no further.  
  
  
Ladies' Man  
by Brenda Shaffer-Shiring  
  
  
Underneath the mistletoe, Tom Paris kissed Gregor Ayala, full on the lips.  
  
From a half-hidden alcove, Chakotay stared in outright amazement.  
  
Tom Paris was a ladies' man.  
  
Everybody on Voyager knew Tom Paris was a ladies' man. To be sure, there were a number of men and women on Voyager who had a healthy interest in their own sex, and plenty more who divided their attentions between the two genders. But Tom Paris, everyone knew, was a ladies' man. Mentally, Chakotay recounted the evidence: Sue Nicoletti, Donna Henley, the Delaney twins (simultaneously, if rumor was to be believed!), B'Elanna Torres, Tal Celes, even an aborted play for Kes, a flash-frozen pass at Seven, and a doomed flirtation with the captain. The list went on, but so far as Chakotay knew, there wasn't one man on it. Not one. Tom Paris, so the evidence indicated, and so the good ship Voyager believed, was a ladies' man, and nothing else but.  
  
The only problem with that theory just at the moment was that ladies' men, as a general rule, did not kiss other men full on the lips. Especially not tall, dark and handsome men who (and this was equally well-known) did not often let flirtations with other men end with merely a kiss. In fact, even as Chakotay watched, Ayala's hand took up position on Tom Paris's hip, sliding around to cup his well-muscled ass...and, far from protesting, Tom moaned and deepened the kiss.  
  
Chakotay retreated further back into the alcove, his thoughts whirling like wind-blown snowflakes in his confusion. Could this be possible...? Could it mean...?  
  
Beyond the alcove where Chakotay hid, and past the little anteroom where Paris delivered his so-stunning kiss, the sights and colors and scents of a traditional English Christmas surrounded Voyager's crew as they joined in the annual revels. The holodeck had been configured into the shape of an old country mansion, and the crew celebrated in its ballroom, a high-ceilinged place with tall wreath-adorned windows and crystal chandeliers, further decorated by a candlelit evergreen and warmed by a large fireplace. A banquet table groaned under the weight of an assortment of traditional savories and sweetmeats, not to mention several punchbowls filled with warm wine punch and nutmeg-fragrant eggnog. For the most part, the crew had dressed to suit the occasion, as well. Many of the women were clad in bright, high-waisted silk dresses that would not have been out of place in the Edwardian era, and a number of the men wore the short satiny waistcoats and tight, fitted breeches of the same period. Including Chakotay himself and (the first officer groaned mentally at the memory of just how well those breeches fit) Tom Paris.  
  
Chakotay heard a couple of pairs of footsteps walking past his alcove, and ventured a quick peek. Paris and Ayala had left the anteroom and gone into the main ballroom. Perhaps Chakotay should enter, as well.  
  
He looked down at exactly how well his *own* trousers fit, and precisely what they defined, and decided to postpone his entrance for a moment.  
  
So much for trying to make up his own mind about how he wanted to handle this little revelation about Tom's tastes and inclinations! His cock had clearly already decided the point. Still, he was a mature man, and beyond being able to use the decisions of his "little head" as an excuse for unwise choices; even if he knew what he wanted to do, it didn't automatically follow that he should go and do it!  
  
The first officer turned to face the tall, frosty windowpane that was the center of his alcove, and looked through it to the faux English countryside. White, snowy hillsides and a clear starry night met his distracted gaze, though the starfield that lit the landscape was not one that would normally have been visible in the space which he (and Voyager) currently inhabited.  
  
If he had known, years ago, what Tom's fervent kiss had revealed tonight, these last several years on Voyager might have been very different.  
  
Chakotay did not know exactly when he had fallen in love with Tom Paris, but he knew when he had realized it: back on New Earth. Alone with a pretty, vibrant, intelligent woman for whom he cared, Chakotay had fully expected that attraction to ripen into love; indeed, for a time, he even thought it *had*. It was in his nature to nurture those dear to him, and the ever-driven Kathryn Janeway seemed a woman much in need of such care. So he tended to her needs as best he could, and tried to make a home for her, against that day when she might be willing to accept it. And he told himself that this was a good life, and she his best companion for that life.  
  
And at night he dreamt of Tom Paris.  
  
Nothing erotic, at first -- that particular torment would come later -- merely scenes in which Paris laughed, or joked, or teased him. Vivid memories of the tension in Paris's face, the strain of his muscles, as he had hauled Chakotay up the collapsing staircase on Ocampa; clear depictions of the almost-casual skill with which he flew the ship; well-drawn recollections of the easy grace of his posture and movements as he played pool, or collected drinks, or chatted with fellow officers in Sandrine's. And Chakotay would wake from those dreams with a strange sense of loss, almost a longing.  
  
By day, he firmly banished such wayward thoughts. He was a practical man, a reasonable man. He expected to be on this planet, in this situation, with only Janeway for companion, for the rest of his natural life; there was no point in tormenting himself by dwelling on what he had not sought before, and now could never have. Better to value what he had. And he *did* value it. His life on New Earth had its own measure of contentment, and he was more than fond of his companion.  
  
By night, though, he could not block his dreams. And his dreams grew more vivid as time went on.  
  
He told himself, quite sensibly, that the dreams were merely a response to the lack of options in his current situation; that Tom's unavailability was precisely the reason *why* the other man had begun to seem so desirable. //If I were somehow to see him again, he'd turn into the same gadfly who used to piss me off on such a regular basis,// he told himself, managing a slight smile as he thought it. //And that would be that.//  
  
Then, much to his surprise, Voyager had returned. Once aboard, Chakotay had waited patiently for his attraction to Paris to fade, for the irritation to outweigh the interest. And waited....  
  
And discovered that he was *still* having dreams about Tom Paris. //Hell.//  
  
Before Chakotay could decide whether or not he should do anything to act on his attraction, there came Voyager's last battle with Seska and the Kazon. His supposed son. Voyager's capture. The exile on Hannon's moon. Tom's "death."  
  
Gods, the guilt. None of this, he'd known, would ever have happened if he hadn't gotten captured by Seska in the first goddamn place, back on Culluh's ship. If he hadn't been so damned wrong about her back in the Maquis.  
  
Dreams turned to nightmares. Even after they (after *Tom*) had recaptured the ship, and returned to Hannon's moon, it was a long time before Chakotay's sleep was easy.  
  
After the rescue, of course, Tom was more popular with the ladies (always the *ladies*) than ever. He seemed to have a new girlfriend every week, at least -- maybe it was every few days.  
  
If Chakotay of Dorvan had had no heart for a hopeless cause, he would never have joined the Maquis. But there were hopeless causes and there were hopeless causes.  
  
Tom Paris was obviously a ladies' man.  
  
And a ladies' man would never be interested in Chakotay of Dorvan.  
  
To salvage his pride, Chakotay approached Kathryn Janeway, and suggested a pact to her. "Mutual protection," he'd said. "A way we can both avoid unwanted, ah, entanglements." Janeway had agreed, with a look of relief.  
  
Chakotay was not surprised. He'd noticed the looks she had been casting toward Kes, knew that she, like he, was unable to act on her attraction. Knew that she, like he, had no interest in being approached by someone other than the object of that attraction.  
  
Mutual protection. So they had let it be believed that they were interested in each other. It wasn't exactly a hard act to pull off -- half the crew had assumed as much anyway, after their mutual sojourn on New Earth. And their duties brought them together often enough that it was only necessary to add a few dinners together here, a few public appearances together there, to complete the appearance of couplehood.  
  
Chakotay supposed it wasn't a bad arrangement, as such things went. Their respective dignities remained intact, and their respective true desires went unremarked. He liked Janeway pretty well as a friend, and neither of them had any illusions that their "relationship" would ever become any more than it was. And it was pleasant to have a companion, even if only to a limited extent.  
  
And if he still woke up, some nights, from dreams of Tom Paris, well, that was no one's concern but his own.  
  
Comfort, pleasantness, habit were powerful motivators; the pact lasted for years, even surviving Kes's departure from Voyager, and Seven of Nine's replacement of her (or so Chakotay surmised) in Janeway's interest. Chakotay had sometimes thought it might have survived anything, except close scrutiny.  
  
But then, he had never anticipated seeing Tom Paris kiss a man. //This changes everything. Everything.//  
  
Chakotay was halfway out of the alcove when a disturbing thought occurred to him. //What if you're too late, old man? What if Tom and Greg are already a couple?// He actually hesitated a moment before he realized that if they'd been together for more than a few minutes, he surely would have heard of it before this! Gossip traveled through Starfleet ships (especially *this* Starfleet ship) faster than subspace communications waves traveled away from them, and gossip about such a notorious womanizer as Paris breaking his long-held pattern would move faster still. And Chakotay was certainly under no obligation to stand clear of Paris merely because Ayala had shown an interest. //All's fair in love and war, Greg,// he thought, and dismissed his fellow Maquisard from his considerations.  
  
The simple fact that Tom Paris was attracted to men did not, of course, mean that Tom Paris would be attracted to *him*, Chakotay. But the simple knowledge that what had been impossible an hour before was now possible was enough to lend courage even to the most timorous of hearts. And Chakotay had never been accused of being timorous.  
  
He looked out over the brightly-dressed crowd. Yes, Tom was right over there, near the buffet, unmistakable in his trim dark-blue waistcoat and well-fitted cream-colored breeches. His present companion represented no threat or competition to Chakotay, as it was none other than Harry Kim, longtime friend of Tom Paris and (of course) devoted husband of B'Elanna Torres.  
  
Chakotay could take a moment for unfinished business, then. Scanning the group further, his eyes came to rest on a small, slim woman in her middle years, looking at once more regal and more delicate than usual in a long, Empire-waisted gown of deep green satin. As he located her, her own searching gaze lit upon him. As of one accord, each began striding quickly toward the other, meeting in the middle of the floor.  
  
"Kathryn --"  
  
"Chakotay --"  
  
"We need to talk," both said, in chorus, then stopped and stared. He noted the look of trepidation on her face, suspected the same expression occupied his own, and realized that he knew exactly what it was that she wanted to say.  
  
"Maybe we don't," he suggested, a sly little smile shaping on his lips.  
  
She stared for a moment longer, then chuckled in sudden and complete comprehension. "No, I guess we don't. So do we need to have an argument, or can we just have an amicable 'break-up'?"  
  
"I'd like to stay friends," he teased gently.  
  
"I hope we always will," she answered, more seriously. She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, the only form of kiss the two of them had ever shared. "Good luck with him, Chakotay."  
  
Later he would wonder how she knew, and how long she'd known, but for now he simply appreciated how completely his old friend understood him. He squeezed her hand. "Thanks. Good luck with her, Kathryn."  
  
The captain smiled. "Thanks." She turned away from him then, her heels clicking lightly on the parquet as she stepped gracefully but directly toward the tall, blue-gowned figure of Seven of Nine.  
  
Chakotay watched her go for a moment, then turned his attention back toward the man who had held that attention so long and so unconsciously. Tom was at the buffet now, his back to the room, as he and Harry engaged in what appeared to be an animated discussion. Moving quietly closer, Chakotay was surprised to hear the tenor of their talk.  
  
"Yeah, well, I thought you had more guts than that, Tom," Harry was saying, an edge to his usually well-modulated voice.  
  
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Paris answered irritably.  
  
"Oh, geez, Tom, I don't know -- what do you think? Maybe it means that if you're going to kiss a man, why don't you just go ahead and kiss the one you really want!"  
  
"Oh, right." Tom's response was sarcastic. "Kiss the captain's boyfriend. Swell idea, Harry. Hand me my toothbrush -- I think I need to go scrub out some warp nacelles."  
  
Chakotay's breath caught. //Kiss the captain's boyfriend? My gods, they're talking about -- Tom's talking about --//  
  
"Chakotay," Harry said sharply, noticing him. Tom turned, looked, and froze, fair features twisting with alarm.  
  
//Oh, hell.// *Not* the opening Chakotay had hoped for. Still, at least now he had some idea of his probable reception -- and there was, all too obviously, nowhere to go but forward. "I'm not the captain's boyfriend," he said urgently, his eyes on Tom's dismayed countenance. "And I think -- I think Harry has an excellent question."  
  
There was no convenient mistletoe nearby for excuse, but Chakotay had waited too long for this moment to care. Taking Paris's broad shoulders firmly in both hands, he leaned forward, and -- there in front of the buffet table, Harry Kim, the crew, God and everyone -- he kissed Tom Paris, full on the lips.  
  
  
--The beginning-- 


End file.
